06-04-2014, 06:26 PM
He labored toward the fallen. Standing among it, in its midst, Jensen groaned like he'd been kicked in the stomach. He was panting. No, he was heaving for air. The walls collapsed in on him. The helmet wrenched his throat into a tiny tube. I can't breathe! Panic set in, and he ripped the helmet from his face. If the murderer wanted revenge for what he'd done, Jensen wouldn't so much as dodge the attack.
He turned in a slow circle, and flinched to absolute stillness at distant pop of gunfire. "Connor your boyfriend? You just missed him. First smart thing he did since you two got here; ran as soon as I showed up, but one of these shits followed him. From the sounds of it, your boy dealt with him."
His mind wouldn't comprehend. What may have been sarcasm, struck a deep nerve, and Jensen's thoughts reeled to set the man straight. Connor was not- ... They were not- But he couldn't get the words out. He had to focus on brighter news. Connor was outside. He was safe; gone, Jensen prayed.
Strained of attention, he wilted to one knee alongside the closest body, but he couldn't bring himself to touch him. It was clear the man was gone. I'm so sorry. He pivoted to go to the next. The man lay across a threshold; one of the ones playing cards. A chunk of his head was stuck in the door frame. Jensen's stomach bubbled acid in the back of his throat. But.. he was still alive! He shifted to go to him, but movement caught the corner of his eye.
The shot fired took Jensen completely by surprise. Fear wrenched a gasp from his throat; but the yell was short-lived. He rounded on the murderer, blanched with horror. "Oh God."
he whispered.
The man went on like nothing unusual had happened. "Police will probably be here soon thanks to you idiots. Next time, just call the police. Or bring a fucking gun."
The shock riddled Jensen to stillness. He watched the murderer blandly steal the man's money. He tucked it away with the same casual manner in which he dealed out death.
"Of course, if those kids end up with the police, doubt many have a Visa to be here. Illegal immigrants and all. CCD doesn't like their type. Don't pay taxes. You want to do good by them, you pull these bastards wallets, grab their cash, and stuff those kids back in the tunnels and hope they find their own way home."
He knew what Jensen and Connor were doing? It was impossible! Jensen didn't even know what was going to happen until after he got here. He couldn't fathom--
Why would he wander by to murder scores of men just to rob a wallet?
He had to find out. The need for closure, for why, drove him through the fog of fear that beckoned him to go elsewhere. He kept a short distance, but Jensen followed the man none the less.
"I don't think I can stop you if you turn and shoot me, though I'd forgive you."
His accent drawled heavy, grieving, yet also afraid the man might make good on Jensen's suggestion.
The Gift filled him with hope, and it steadied his legs when instinct said to run the other way. "I ask you why. Though. Why murder these men? Who are you?"
Hearing the question out loud sparked memory of the woman in the foyer. He put a hand to his mouth to cover the sorrow darkening his expression unending. Thus was murder was added to his list of sins: the first was a victim of anger unchecked while these were victims of pride. He thought he could succeed, save people, on his own. Even with Connor he was woefully undermined.
He caught up with the murderer, and tentatively reached to touch him on the arm, but at a look Jensen withdrew slightly.
He turned in a slow circle, and flinched to absolute stillness at distant pop of gunfire. "Connor your boyfriend? You just missed him. First smart thing he did since you two got here; ran as soon as I showed up, but one of these shits followed him. From the sounds of it, your boy dealt with him."
His mind wouldn't comprehend. What may have been sarcasm, struck a deep nerve, and Jensen's thoughts reeled to set the man straight. Connor was not- ... They were not- But he couldn't get the words out. He had to focus on brighter news. Connor was outside. He was safe; gone, Jensen prayed.
Strained of attention, he wilted to one knee alongside the closest body, but he couldn't bring himself to touch him. It was clear the man was gone. I'm so sorry. He pivoted to go to the next. The man lay across a threshold; one of the ones playing cards. A chunk of his head was stuck in the door frame. Jensen's stomach bubbled acid in the back of his throat. But.. he was still alive! He shifted to go to him, but movement caught the corner of his eye.
The shot fired took Jensen completely by surprise. Fear wrenched a gasp from his throat; but the yell was short-lived. He rounded on the murderer, blanched with horror. "Oh God."
he whispered.
The man went on like nothing unusual had happened. "Police will probably be here soon thanks to you idiots. Next time, just call the police. Or bring a fucking gun."
The shock riddled Jensen to stillness. He watched the murderer blandly steal the man's money. He tucked it away with the same casual manner in which he dealed out death.
"Of course, if those kids end up with the police, doubt many have a Visa to be here. Illegal immigrants and all. CCD doesn't like their type. Don't pay taxes. You want to do good by them, you pull these bastards wallets, grab their cash, and stuff those kids back in the tunnels and hope they find their own way home."
He knew what Jensen and Connor were doing? It was impossible! Jensen didn't even know what was going to happen until after he got here. He couldn't fathom--
Why would he wander by to murder scores of men just to rob a wallet?
He had to find out. The need for closure, for why, drove him through the fog of fear that beckoned him to go elsewhere. He kept a short distance, but Jensen followed the man none the less.
"I don't think I can stop you if you turn and shoot me, though I'd forgive you."
His accent drawled heavy, grieving, yet also afraid the man might make good on Jensen's suggestion.
The Gift filled him with hope, and it steadied his legs when instinct said to run the other way. "I ask you why. Though. Why murder these men? Who are you?"
Hearing the question out loud sparked memory of the woman in the foyer. He put a hand to his mouth to cover the sorrow darkening his expression unending. Thus was murder was added to his list of sins: the first was a victim of anger unchecked while these were victims of pride. He thought he could succeed, save people, on his own. Even with Connor he was woefully undermined.
He caught up with the murderer, and tentatively reached to touch him on the arm, but at a look Jensen withdrew slightly.